A Question of Class by Julia Tagan Page A

dry, gravelly soil and clamor for liquid. This concentrates the taste in the delectable fruit in a way no other vineyard can do. I visited Delcour in Bordeaux two summers ago, and I tell you, this is the juice of the gods. Soon, everyone in America will be drinking wine, but you’ll be able to say you have tasted nectar, my dear men.”
    “Enough talking, pour me a glass,” said the man standing to Benjamin’s right. They all laughed.
    Carpenter poured a small amount into his own glass and tasted it. Instead of swallowing, he swished it around his mouth, and the men watched him intently. Benjamin was certain if Carpenter gargled with it next, they’d do the same.
    After swallowing and smacking his lips, Carpenter poured each man a glass, wiping the lip of the bottle with a serviette after each pour.
    “To doing business,” said Carpenter, raising his glass.
    “To business,” repeated the others.
    Benjamin rolled the liquid around in his glass. To his surprise, the wine didn’t have the deep plum hue he’d noticed the few times he’d tasted Chateau Margaux back in France. Perhaps the discoloration was due to the long journey by sea. When he lifted the glass to his lips, Benjamin found the taste to be much more tannic than he’d expected. He took another, more tentative sip.
    Carpenter was studying his face intently and Benjamin smiled at him. The other men were all exclaiming their delight.
    “What do you think?” Carpenter asked him.
    “I’ve never had anything like it. I’m more of an ale man myself.” Benjamin held up his glass and took another sip. Definitely not Chateau Margaux.
    “I see,” said Carpenter. “The rest of you are a touch more advanced than Mr. Thomas here, and I hope you’ll agree with me this is exquisite.”
    “I’ll take ten cases for the City Hotel,” said one gentleman.
    The truth was out: Carpenter and Delcour were taking advantage of the Americans’ ignorance of fine wine. As Carpenter took orders, each man vying for a piece of what they thought was precious cargo, Benjamin slipped out the door.
    * * * *
    Catherine figured she’d be safe from Percy back in the ballroom, surrounded by guests and servants. Theodosia was nowhere to be seen, but Catherine spied Benjamin up on the second floor balcony, moving at a great clip deeper into the house and not even glancing down at the dancers below. Intrigued, she headed up the stairway and followed him. She thought he was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, but between dancing with Marianne and creeping along corridors, he wasn't doing much of a job.
    Catherine found herself in the same hallway she’d come from. Luckily, Percy had disappeared. Ahead of her, Benjamin tried a door on the right, peered in and then quietly shut it. He moved down the hallway in this manner until he found the door to Carpenter’s study and disappeared inside.
    Catherine waited a few seconds outside the study. Back down the hallway, she heard men’s voices and the distinctive guttural laugh of Carpenter. She opened the door and entered.
    The room had large windows draped by thick velvet, and was dimly lit by a couple of sconces. A large desk stood at one end near a marble fireplace. She hoped Carpenter was headed back to the party and not coming this way. Benjamin stood behind the desk, leaning over it and leafing through some papers.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    Benjamin jumped back from the desk. He’d been so engrossed in whatever he was looking at, he hadn’t heard her approach.
    She smiled. “I'm not sure what Mr. Carpenter would say if he knew you were snooping through his papers.”
    Benjamin slowly moved from behind the desk. “He wouldn’t be amused.”
    “Why don’t you tell me what are you up to? If you don’t, I’ll fetch Mr. Carpenter myself.”
    “I should ask you the same question.”
    “I saw you lurking around the hallways and I followed you.”
    “I would’ve thought you’d take better advantage of your